Mom bought a chick from the market. I called it Chickadee, from an Enid Blyton book. We kept it in a paper box, covered with a towel at night. It cheeped the whole night long. Later, we learned our lesson and bought a pair at a time. Somehow, when we have at least two, they keep quiet at night, probably because they are not so cold and lonely.
One afternoon, as Chickadee was having its daily sand bath, we were careless, letting it get drenched in a quick shower. By the time we remembered and caught it, it was totally wet, pathetically frightened and shivering with chill.
Our chicken expert, Laurie of next door, advocated dry towel and hair dryer warmth. The old lady living near the Hospital shared about feeding crushed garlic to ward off the chill.
I simply prayed that my God would heal my pet chick. One day passed, the next went on and it kept growing, eating and pecking. Laurie was surprised and pleased. The old lady declared it a miracle.
* flower from myspace.com
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